Vow and Sacrifice
by Catmint
Summary: HBP spoiler alert. Severus and Draco's lives has taken more twists, but Severus could not prevent the horrific events that took place on that fateful night, and he and Draco are forced to flee, fearful for the future.


Vow and Sacrifice

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Disclaimer: not mine, never were. The second section is an elaboration from one character's perspective of the scene on p556 of HBP.

I started writing this about 3 hours after finishing HBP on July 16th. I decided to wait a while before posting to give people a chance to finish HBP and to digest the events of that book.

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"Ah, so good of you to come so swiftly!" Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore, beamed as his visitor entered his office. "Sherbet lemon?"

"You informed me that I see you urgently," the other man reminded him irritably, ignoring the offer of sweets. "I was hardly going to delay my visit until the snow melts, was I?"

Dumbledore smiled genially, blue eyes twinkling. "Some would."

"What is this all about, exactly? I have left Pansy Parkinson supervising Malcolm Baddock's detention while I'm up here."

The headmaster gestured to an assortment of chairs of various shapes and sizes in the centre of the room. "Do take a seat." He noticed the younger man select the hardest, most uncomfortable chair available and sit stiffly upright, his long, thin fingers folded neatly in his lap. The headmaster stopped himself from visibly smiling in amusement, pausing and gazing out of the window.

"Headmaster?"

Dumbledore turned his gaze back to meet the dark-eyed stare, growing suddenly more serious. "We both know what is happening. What his plan is."

The other man nodded sharply, briefly, in curt acknowledgement of the statement.

"Therefore we both know the risks. What things could come down to."

"Please be more specific." The younger man sounded irritated, impatient.

"The risk posed to your role. And to your life, if you break your Vow, as well as to your charge."

The dark eyes narrowed in annoyance. "If you are implying that I am not being careful enough –" he began defensively.

"Not at all," cut in the headmaster, slightly sharply. "I am not about to accuse anyone of anything, and that includes you."

The younger man turned his stare to the floor. When he spoke, his soft voice was heavy, resigned. "What is it you wish to say to me, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled in light amusement, though his face remained otherwise grave. "How many times must I ask you to please refrain from calling me that? You are no longer a student here at Hogwarts."

"You are more deserving of that form of address than others who have demanded to addressed so."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Let it rest. He has been gone for nearly twenty years now."

"It could be a _hundred_ and twenty years and still seem as fresh as yesterday in my mind!" The younger man's dark eyes flared briefly with anger and he clenched his hands into tight fists.

Dumbledore reached out to the other man in reassurance, but the younger flinched away. Dumbledore withdrew sadly. "You know I would never harm you."

The younger man stared, tenser and stiffer than ever, at his hands in his laps, pain, shame and embarrassment etched on his thin, drawn face. "Automatic reaction," he muttered.

"I understand."

The younger man raised his head to look at the headmaster, then shook it, his expression growing cold and bitter. "With all due respect, headmaster, you could not possibly even _begin_ to understand."

Dumbledore held up his hands in defeat. "Perhaps you are correct. Perhaps I could not."

The younger man shifted in his seat. "I assume the point of this meeting is _not_ to discuss my past?"

"You would be accurate in that assumption. Sherbet lemon?"

This provoked a scowl. "You know I don't. Not after The Incident…"

Dumbledore wisely removed the offending sweets from view. Triggering unpleasant memories from schooldays was _not_ the most advisable method of approaching the prickly, bitter man seated in front of him. "My intention of bringing you here, as I have already stated, is in relation to the way matters are progressing."

"You mentioned my role."

"I did." Here Dumbledore hesitated, his face growing graver still. He deeply wished that he did not have to have this conversation, but he knew that it was necessary. He did not know whether he would ever have such an opportunity again. "You may be called upon to prove your loyalty to Lord Voldemort, at great cost to both yourself and the Order. You may be required to do terrible things for the benefit of the Order."

"Please elaborate."

Dumbledore perched on the edge of his cluttered desk and momentarily closed his eyes in anguish. He opened them to find himself under the intense questioning look of the younger man. When he spoke, his voice was heavy, sober. "If things go wrong, badly wrong, and your charge is struggling, you may have to complete the task for him, as you vowed. I have spent much of my time since you first informed me of this matter thinking about this. I am ready for it. Are you?"

The younger man was silent, deep in an emotional, mental tussle. It was, however, brief, and he opened his mouth to speak. "Headmaster –"

"_Are you prepared to do this?_" Dumbledore's voice grew hard, more forceful.

The younger man took a deep breath; then, eyes meeting Dumbledore in an even stare, he nodded resolutely. "I am."

Dumbledore smiled warmly, peacefully. "Thank you. We shall make a Gryffindor out of you yet." He wanted to reach out and give the younger man's shoulder a reassuring, comforting pat, but he sadly knew that his history – reinforced by the earlier reaction – would not permit such a gesture. "I shall see you at breakfast tomorrow morning, I assume?"

"If I am not in Azkaban for the murder of Baddock."

"How has he upset you this time?"

"Where should I _start?_" Although the younger man growled in annoyance, there was a faint hint of dry humour in his voice – something of a rarity for him.

"I see. Then I shall let you relieve Miss Parkinson of her supervisory duties."

The younger man curtly jerked his head as he rose from the chair.

"Take care, now."

"I shall." The younger man spun around and strode briskly from the room, robes billowing out behind his thin frame. Dumbledore watched him go, heart heavy with what they had discussed.

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(several months later)

He flung open the door to the castle's ramparts, clutching his wand tightly in his hand as he surveyed the scene that met his eyes, noting Draco Malfoy, four Death Eaters including Greyback, who he despised –

And Dumbledore, who was slumped against a wall as though it were unable to support him.

"We've got a problem, Snape," said Amycus, eyes and wand fixed on Dumbledore. "The boy doesn't seem able –"

"Severus…"

Severus Snape showed no emotion to those on the ramparts. Inside, however, he was cold. Dumbledore. Dumbledore _pleading_.

He felt fear, creeping and cold, penetrating his heart. This was not how it was meant to be. Not how he wanted it to be.

But now was not the time to be thinking such thoughts. This was it. Draco could not do it. So Severus walked forwards, pushing Draco roughly to one side. He was vaguely aware of the Death Eaters falling back in silence.

He paused, gazing at Dumbledore, still slumped, and forced his face into an expression of complete and utter revulsion and hatred. Deep down he knew that while the expression on his face was displaying exactly how he felt, what none save himself and Dumbledore knew was that those emotions were directed not towards the headmaster, but towards himself.

Dumbledore was looking directly at him. "Severus…please…" His voice was steady, almost urgent. But not pleading.

Severus raised his wand, knowing in despair that he had agreed to this, had made that Vow, that Dumbledore _knew_, and pointed it directly at the older wizard. "_Avada Kedavra!_" he cried, focusing all the hatred and anger and disgust that he had ever felt into making the Unforgivable work. Nothing less would do.

He could hardly bear to watch as the cruel jet of green light shot from his wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest.

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Two figures materialised out of thin air near the disused, derelict old mill. The dark-haired one pulled the blond figure's hood over his head to hide his identity. "Run as silently as you can," whispered the dark-haired figure, seizing hold of the smaller one. "And _do not speak_."

The dark-haired figure leading, they hurried quietly along the labyrinth of cobbled streets and dark alleys, grateful for the mist and broken street-lamps that covered them almost completely in darkness, until they reached the very last house of the shabby, neglected Lancashire street that was Spinners' End. The taller figure murmured a few spells unfamiliar to his younger companion. A moment later the older figure gestured to the other and they slipped silently, unnoticed, into the house, inaudibly shutting the door on the darkness outside.

The tall figure muttered, "_Lumos_", and his wand tip promptly began glowing softly, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls of the small sitting room. "Wormtail?" he growled. "If you're here, show yourself at once!"

Silence.

The man muttered something and moments later, when a bookcase flickered green, he grew visibly relieved. "Wormtail is clearly not here. For that we can be grateful." He flicked his wand at a lamp and it flickered into life, though did not shine too brightly. "Sit down before you fall down, Draco. And you can remove your hood now."

The smaller figure shakily did as he was told. Hood now removed, he turned his pale face to the other, grey eyes wide with fear and horror. He attempted to speak, but could make no sound. His hands were shaking violently and his breath came in short, fast gasps.

The other went to the window, peered out into the mist, and swiftly shut the shabby curtains. "Take deep breaths, Draco. Focus on your breathing."

Draco nodded obediently, forcing himself to do as advised.

"I should tell you now – you cannot contact your mother. Or _anyone_. It isn't safe for us. We have gone into hiding."

Draco gulped, still wide-eyed. "But you – they'll find – they'll know – they'll track us –"

"_Breathe_, Draco," said the man sternly – though not unkindly. He sighed and sat down on the threadbare sofa beside Draco. "I shall explain in due course."

Draco nodded, his breathing slower now, his heart not pounding as it had been doing. "Do – do you live here, Professor?"

"In the summer holidays. Not quite what you're used to, but not everyone has money like your family."

"But _this_ is…"

"I know, Draco. I would rather not talk about it. If nothing else, others could get hold of such information and use it to their advantage – and our _dis_advantage. And while I think about it, we must be _extremely _careful with our use of magic. We could be traced."

"But – Dumbledore…"

"_Later_, Draco."

"You killed him! You _murdered_ him!" Draco's breathing quickened rapidly, eyes fearful and horrified as he looked at his teacher.

The other sighed heavily, despairingly. "I had to."

"But – the Ministry – Potter – Hagrid – Aurors –"

"_Enough!_ And _breathe!_"

But Draco was gasping again, heart pounding, his breaths coming faster and shallower than ever, hands shaking violently, tears pricking, leg jiggling rapidly, head shaking from side to side. Dizziness was threatening to overwhelm him and he swayed. His teacher grabbed him firmly about the shoulders. "Deep breaths! Draco! _Deep! Slowly!_ Come on; you can do it. Calm. Think calm. Think slow. Come on. Breathe, Draco. _Breathe_."

"Can't…Whoooo." He swayed again, consciousness starting to slip away, breathing speeding up once more. The world was spinning and black dots were dancing at the periphery of his vision.

"Draco, _breathe!_ It's a panic attack. Nothing bad, nothing dangerous. You'll be absolutely fine."

"Dizzy…" the seventeen-year-old whimpered, hands and leg shaking still.

"That's because you're breathing too fast; the carbon dioxide levels in your blood are too low. Calm down. Breathe deeply, slow it down…"

Draco whimpered through his gasps, swayed violently and collapsed into his teacher's lap. The elder eased himself free and carefully lay Draco out on the sofa, covering him with a blanket that had been draped over the back of the sofa and using a tatty, fraying cushion as a pillow. He sat on the floor beside the exhausted teenager, observing his breathing gradually grow quiet, slow and even as he fell asleep.

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Three hours later, Draco's eyelids fluttered open and his eyes met those of his companion. He started, disoriented in unfamiliar surroundings, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide and face panicked once more. The change in position had been too rapid, however; he swayed and, groaning, fell back against the cushions.

"Relax, Draco. It's just you and me."

"But Professor – I don't understand…" Draco bit his lip.

"Let me explain." Severus looked him steadily in the eye. I am not going to lie to you. But first, tell me of last night. Of your part in events."

Draco, nervous, averted his gaze. "I – I was meant to…I should have…It was _my_ _task_." He took a deep, quavering breath and his voice wavered. "But I couldn't…He – Dumbledore – said about protection…But that wouldn't work – they'd find me…"

Severus reached out and gently placed a hand over Draco's. "Where do your allegiances lie?"

Draco looked taken aback. "With – with the Dark Lord, of course…"

"You sound unsure."

Draco's eyes filled with tears and he furiously tried to blink them away. "He – he didn't try to rescue my father…I failed in my task…they'll kill me, and Mother…I've got nowhere to go, nothing, nobody…" He gulped back a sob.

"You have me."

Draco eyed him dubiously. "Aunt Bella said you can't be trusted."

The other snorted derisively. "I care little for Bella's opinions." He sighed wearily. "Draco, there's something you should know. Your mother and I made an Unbreakable Vow. I swore to watch over you and to keep you from harm. And to carry out your task if you could not."

"I failed…" whispered Draco miserably.

"Perhaps it is better this way. You are untainted." He shrugged. "I have already committed murders. You cannot return to the Death Eaters; they will most assuredly kill you without a second thought."

"What about you?" Draco slowly eased himself into a sitting position, waiting for the spinning sensation to go away.

"The Ministry will be after me; Potter will talk. You and I go to ground together."

Draco was staring wide-eyed at him. "Aunt Bella – she thought you were spying for Dumbledore."

There was silence for a moment. Then Severus nodded. "She is very astute, is Bella. Although a little mentally unstable."

Draco frowned. "But if you were…How could you kill him like that? In cold blood?"

Severus looked away. He had been dreading this question. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. "I had to and he knew it, and so I promised to."

"You – you _what!_"

"He knew of the plan. I told him. He had prepared himself for that moment."

"But – but _why_?"

Severus shook his head, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Say no more on the subject; the pain is too great. I – I have yet to realise fully what it is that I have done."

Draco bit his lip. "Professor?"

"Call me Severus; we are not at school now and I highly doubt that either of us will ever be able to return there."

Draco nodded idly, reluctantly. "I – I'm scared," he confessed in a whisper, tears slowly beginning to slip down his grey-tinged, pinched face.

"Be thankful you're not a murderer." Severus fell silent, observing Draco closely. He looked to be on the edge of a breakdown – not surprising, given what he had just been through and seen.

"P-Professor?"

"What is it, Draco?"

Their eyes met briefly before Draco looked away, embarrassed and ashamed. And Severus understood. He moved to sit beside Draco on the sofa, awkwardly putting an arm around the thin, tense teenager. Draco let out a half-choked gasp, burying himself in his Head of House's robes, his entire body shaking with violent sobs as the impact of the events in which he had partaken hit him.

Severus held on to Draco as tightly as the teenager clung to him. They had only each other now, unless Draco's mother Narcissa could be located. Why had it come to this? Severus loathed every molecule of his being. How had he done it? Dumbledore had been the only one to ever show any faith in him (except Voldemort, but he didn't count), and Severus had repaid that trust by murdering him. Now nobody would ever trust him again, save for Draco and possibly Narcissa.

But what good was her trust now? It wasn't safe to contact her. Not now. And he and Draco would not be able to remain at Spinners' End for long. They would have to go on the run. And stay so.

As he held Draco, Severus felt his own emotions crash into him. Shock. Horror. Disbelief. He had killed Dumbledore. _Murdered _him. He hadn't changed. He was still the pathetic, cowardly creature that Sirius Black and James Potter had tormented maliciously and unrelentingly for seven interminable years at school. He was no better than Bella, or Karkaroff, or Macnair, or Dolohov, or…

Never had he felt such intense, complete self-loathing as he did now. He was the lowest of the low, lower even than Wormtail. He was guilty. Guilty of the biggest murder in recent times, perhaps even in the whole history of the wizarding world. He wondered how many murders a person had to have committed before they were officially classed as a mass murderer. Mentally he ticked off his own crimes in an attempt to stave off the overwhelming disbelief at his role in the day's events. Twenty Muggles in total. Then there was the newly-married Delaneys, former Ravenclaws who had regularly joined with Black and Potter in tormenting him at school. Jessie Hornby, a Slytherin from the year above him, a Death Eater who had bungled an operation.

And his own father, Tobias Snape. This was the one murder for which Severus felt no remorse. His only regret was that he had left it so long before carrying out the act. The man had murdered his own wife in a violent, alcohol-fuelled rage, in front of his eleven-year-old son just after he had received his Hogwarts letter. Eighteen years of relentless abuse had damaged Severus beyond repair.

But Dumbledore…Severus grew cold, horrified as the realisation of his actions began to sink in. What had he done? _What had he done?_

He felt overwhelmingly sick, and he hastily pushed Draco from him, stumbling into the kitchen just in time to reach the sink, where he promptly lost the meagre contents of his stomach, shaking and sweating. Drained, he wrenched the stiff cold tap on, the water gushing out and colliding noisily on the sides and bottom of the old enamel sink. He leaned over the sink, head hung low, defeated.

Footsteps padded into the kitchen behind him and Severus slowly raised his head.

"Are – are you OK?" asked Draco hesitantly, nervously twisting his thin fingers together from where he stood in the doorway. He was leaning against the doorframe for support.

Severus blinked slowly at him, then shook his head. He knew he needed to be honest with Draco; otherwise he would lose his trust, and that would be dangerous for both of them. "No, Draco. I'm not. I don't know if I ever will be, either. He – he was willing to have me do it if it came down to it. I promised – I gave my word – I made my Vow…I just never really believed that I might actually have to…"

Draco was silent, unmoving apart from his hands. He had never seen his teacher in such a state of distress.

Severus suddenly felt violently sick again. He leaned over the sink but nothing came out. Exhaustion hit him and his knees buckled. He gripped the edge of the sink tightly to keep himself upright. Draco grabbed a nearby chair from the small kitchen table and guided Severus into it. "Why did you save me? When you grabbed me – you could have run, got away. I'm slower than you; I was a hindrance, a burden…" His voice tailed off and his face reflected his lack of comprehension.

Severus rested his head in his hand, elbow on the table, eyes half-closed, drained. "Because I'm your godfather. Because I made that Vow with your mother. And now…now we have only each other. We are fugitives. Nowhere will be safe for us, Draco. _Nowhere_. But we have to be strong. For each other and for – and for Dumbledore."

"Can – can we help the Order?" The question was a hesitant one.

"We would have to be careful. And they are unlikely to trust me now, unless Dumbledore left something explaining things."

"I – I miss Mother," whispered Draco, unshed tears shining in his eyes. Standing there, twisting his fingers together, he reminded Severus of a frightened, lost child.

"Unless _she_ finds _us_, there is to be _no contact_ with her."

"Why did it come to this?"

Severus wearily shook his head. "I can't answer that, Draco. Dumbledore would have known. He – he let me do it…" He paused, and his voice grew firm. "You need rest. We both do. It's been a painful, difficult day. We'll plan our next move when we're refreshed and have had time to collect our thoughts." He got to his feet and put the chair back under the table.

Draco reached out to hug him then, and the two clung to each other, fearful for the future, horrified and grief-stricken from the past.

Dumbledore was dead at Severus' hand.

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--fin--


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